


Unspeakable

by hexagonad (ideserveyou)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Alien Sex, Angst and Humor, Gags, Handcuffs, M/M, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/hexagonad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wrong two shamen have sex. The End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspeakable

“It’s an outrage!”

 

Saboo completely agrees. Even though this was almost entirely his own idea, now it’s come to the crunch he can’t quite believe that he’s looking at… what he’s looking at.

Tony Harrison.

Tony Harrison, wearing Saboo’s feathered hat.

Tony Harrison, wearing Saboo’s feathered hat, and sliding slowly backwards down Saboo’s supine, naked body, which has been liberally slathered in something Saboo wishes he could still believe was baby oil.

Propped on his hotel pillows, his hands firmly cuffed behind his head, Saboo can only watch Tony’s progress with horrified fascination.

How on earth could he have allowed – even _wanted_ – this to happen?

It’s all Naboo’s fault. It always is. Stupid little tit.

The lurid pink alien raises the hat with his left rear tentacle, and grins cheekily at Saboo. “Yeah, an outrage, that you and I don’t do this every night of the week!”

He sort of flows across the surface. It’s not really crawling. Nor is it pouring. It’s unnatural. An outrage.

But it feels like… Saboo tries not to think about what it reminds him of. Cling film. Slugs. The last time he had to eat Dennis’s cooking. His stomach curdles. And yet he doesn’t want the feeling to stop.

The tentacles are engorging, flushing purple as they become longer and shinier. Saboo’s brain finds it all quite revolting. His cock, however, apparently finds it all something quite other.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You enjoyin’ this as much as I am?”

Tony extends a tentacle behind him and wiggles it, feeling his way. His grin grows even wider as the tip bumps against Saboo’s hardness.

“Well, well, you _are_ enjoyin’ this as much as I am! We’re good together, you and me. We’re a team!”

Saboo makes a stifled sound of protest, through the gag. (That was another error of judgement, shortly after agreeing to the handcuff thing. He wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth. Those pink, slippery pseudo-limbs were lightning-fast.)

“No need to be rude. I’m doin’ you a favour, I am. And it’s nice to know that at least one part of you is capable of showing some appreciation for my sexual magnetism. Just lie back and enjoy the ride. I’m certainly going to.”

There is a faint sucking sound as Tony unfastens his two forward tentacles from Saboo’s now granite-hard nipples, everting those little cups that had fitted and squeezed with such titillating perfection. He curls and uncurls their plastic-pink tips, turning them into flat, tongue-like structures that lick and tease their way across Saboo’s ribs.

Saboo stares up at the ceiling and tries to do as he’s told.

Apart from the slime, things could be worse. Tony’s not as heavy as Saboo expected. He weighs a bit more than a football: just enough to be slightly uncomfortable. The tendrils are cool where they reach out to tickle; the central mass is picking up Saboo’s own warmth, adapting its ultra-smooth surface to his shape.

Saboo wonders where Tony keeps that spiny organ he’s so proud of. And what it will feel like, when…

Perhaps it was a mistake to ask Tony to do this. But Saboo is a shaman with needs, and every now and then the need becomes unbearable, making him swallow his pride and turn to… whoever happens to be around.

Last time, Naboo happened to be around. And the time before. In fact, most of the other times too. A twinge of something like longing tightens at the back of Saboo’s throat. He squashes it firmly back under the familiar weight of his contempt for that stunted, spaced-out loser.

“Oh yes, I like this. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

Saboo glances down. Tony has removed the hat and settled himself comfortably in the hollow of his colleague’s pelvis, the back of his absurdly inflated head leaning against Saboo’s erection.

“Ready for the Harrison Special Treatment, then?” Tony waggles his tongue provocatively, then spins himself around.

Saboo looks at the Chewit-pink, pulsating back of the alien’s bulbous head, or body, or whatever it is. He can feel Tony’s bright blue eyes looking him up and down. His cock twitches, despite himself.

Tony delicately raises an appendage and wraps a couple of loops of bright pink around Saboo’s shaft.

“Mmmm, such a pretty colour combination.”

He slides the lasso up to the tip, and pulls the foreskin back.

“Let’s see whether it tastes as good as it looks.”

The alien licks lasciviously, his tongue cool and strong and experienced.

“Ooo, yeah. Delicious.”

He flattens the end of a tentacle, leaf-thin; slips it into the slit, a knife-blade of pleasurable pain.

Withdraws it, writing a snail-trail of slime over the purple skin at the head.

Saboo whimpers, his prick throbbing and his balls aching with need as Harrison slides down between his legs to knead and suck and tease at his groin and his poor, helpless, exposed gonads.

Just as Saboo gets to the point where he really, really doesn’t think he can take any more, Tony stops, and licks his lips noisily. “That’ll do nicely. Now I’m gonna roll you over.”

Those tentacles may be thin, but they are surprisingly strong: like plastic-coated wire. They grip Saboo’s thigh and somehow lever him onto his side.

Saboo gives a protesting squeak.

He hates himself for sounding so undignified. Naboo makes ridiculous sounds like that. 

But the little shaman is far away on Earth and no doubt off his head on weed, in that squalid hovel he has chosen to live in with those two idiots and his ridiculous familiar. It will not have crossed his tiny hallucinating mind that Saboo might be concluding his latest shamanic errand by shagging in an anonymous Xooberonian hotel bedroom with a testicular alien. He’s probably not even thinking about Saboo at all…

“Oi. Wakey wakey.”

A sharp jab in the stomach brings Saboo back to the present.

“Listen, you bearded tit, do you want me to fuck you, or not? I can take it or leave it. Mrs Harrison is always happy to accommodate my tentacular needs. You’re the one who was gagging for it, back there in the bar.”

The bubblegum ballbag has a point. Saboo surrenders, and rolls over.

“That’s better. Now, where were we?”

The slightly warm and distinctly slimy weight perches on Saboo’s upper thighs; the tentacles grip his cheeks and pull them apart.

“Always thought you had a nice arse for such a snooty git. I thought right, and all,” Tony cackles. His nasal voice drills right into Saboo’s head. “Ve-ry pretty. Can’t recall a prettier one. Except for Mrs Harrison’s, of course.”

A hot flush of shame rises up Saboo’s face. He’s glad Tony can’t see it. Although what Tony _can_ see is much, much more embarrassing.

“Let’s open up that little rosebud, then, shall we?”

The alien’s fleshy, pointed nose delves into Saboo’s cleft. Hot breath blows against his quivering, clenching entrance. Then there is wetness, and that muscular, questing tongue is pushing into him, and it’s so wrong and hideous but at the same time so irresistibly good…

As the tongue is withdrawn, Saboo arches off the bed, and moans. His tormentor chuckles evilly.

“Oh yeah, you liked that, you slag. And you’ll like this even more. Did you know, I’ve got a separate brain for every one of me tentacles?”

And he proceeds to insert them with exquisite care, one at a time, until Saboo has lost count.

“Bit of a novelty for you, bein’ on the bottom, ain’t it? Seein’ as your boyfriend doesn’t have any… protruberances.”

Saboo can only grunt through the gag. “Mm’f MMM mm mmm-mmffff.”

“He’s not your boyfriend? Oh, come off it. You and that midget, you go back years. ‘Undreds of years.”

“M mmm’f mm-mm _mmmm_ mm mm-mmff ffff.”

‘You don’t even _like_ the little shit? Doesn’t mean you’re not giving it to him. It’s perfectly possible to have red-hot sex with someone you don’t even like. As I, my friend, am about to demonstrate.”

The tentacles wiggle, each one dancing to its own music. Saboo gasps as two probing, curling tips independently find his sweet spot and start to play a game with it, competing to see which of them can elicit the loudest groans from him.

“Kirk told me he had the room next to yours at the last Convention. Heard you two going at it like trains, he said.”

The hateful voice goes babbling on. Saboo tunes it out. He really doesn’t want to know what Kirk overheard, and the cacophony of sensations going on in his body is making it difficult to concentrate anyway.

“Right. That’ll do.” There is a sudden slap on his arse. “You’re ready for me, I reckon. Ready as you’ll ever be.”

And he is. Gasping for it, despite himself. Open, and slack, and slicked with what he still stubbornly hopes might be baby oil…

Tony shuffles up the bed and onto the unoccupied pillow. “ ‘Ere, take a look at what’s in store for your delectation. Me legendary multi-hexagonal alien penis.”

Saboo looks, and wishes he hadn’t.

It protrudes a good six or seven inches from Tony’s upturned underside, shiny and lurid orange and dripping with greenish goo. And oh, fuck, it’s fractal… a six-sided, barbed tip, surrounded by six spirals of six-sided, barbed tips, each tip surrounded by six spirals…

Saboo’s head spins. He makes a sound that might be heard during the last moments of some small, shy woodland creature looking down a hunter’s gun barrel. Tony wobbles with laughter.

“Don’t worry, it’s fully multi-adjustable. You’ll be able to take a Level Three. Mrs Harrison, she’s up to a Level Six. Fits her bits like a key in a lock. Oh, she’s a one in a million, is my Mrs.”

A pink arm appears in Saboo’s field of view, and picks up the small hexagonal box Tony deposited on the bedside table when they first came up to the room, it seems years ago.

“Multi-hexagonal multi-stretch condoms!” Tony announces with glee. “I have to get ‘em specially made.”

Saboo hastily closes his eyes. There are many things that a shaman needs to know, but how to put on a multi-dimensional alien prophylactic is definitely not one of them.

He wishes he had asked for earmuffs along with the gag.

Harrison climbs onto Saboo’s shoulder and toboggans down his spine with an enthusiastic shout, landing between Saboo’s legs with a squelchy, self-satisfied plop.

Then the tentacles are back, stretching and massaging. Saboo moans, and thrusts desperately into the mattress.

“Oi, none of that, we can’t have you peaking too soon. I’ve got plans for the contents of those delectable orbs.”

An appendage wraps round the base of Saboo’s throbbing cock, and squeezes tight.

Tony cackles. “Alright, lover? You couldn’t come now even if I did this.”

He extends another tentacle (dammit, how many has he _got_?) to stroke the sensitive head with agonizing softness.

“Or this.”

And without warning, he slides his monstrous, knobbly penis expertly and mercilessly into his partner, all the way to its slimy hilt.

Only the gag prevents Saboo from screaming the place down.

Harrison giggles. “Good, innit?”

Then he begins to move, inside, every one of those tips and sub-tips pushing and rotating independently, the sensation only slightly blunted by the squeaky membrane of his bespoke protection.

It is both the best and the worst thing Saboo has ever experienced.

As Tony grunts and heaves and thrusts, Saboo stares at the blank white pillow beside him and tries to think (when he can think at all) of smooth pale curves that are tantalizingly and stubbornly unresponsive, of small cool hands that reach out reluctantly but always gently to touch him, of a soft, lisping voice that never says more than it absolutely has to…

Snap out of it, he tells himself. He doesn’t like that little freak. Never has. He just… needs it sometimes, and knows where to go to get it. That’s all.

He wishes he’d gone there this time.

At least Naboo can never do this to him.

“Oh! YEAHHH! OH FUCK! _OH, MRS HARRISON!!!!!!_ ”

The alien horror inside him pulsates and blossoms with sudden heat. To Saboo’s disgust, the tentacles wrapped around his arse and his prick are all having their own mini-orgasms, releasing pulses of tepid slime from their swollen tips.

When the awful process appears to have finished, leaving Saboo aching and burning and dripping with some substance he really, really doesn’t want to have to touch, Tony rolls him back over, somehow keeping that agonizing grip on him that is preventing release and merciful oblivion.

“Ahhh, that’s better. Mrs Harrison’s been at her sister’s for a week and I was so backed up inside meself with all me alien spermatophores, I could hardly sit down.” There is a sucking, squeaking noise as the multi-hexagonal organ is divested of its condom.

Then the beachball-weight is back on Saboo’s lower belly, wriggling and squirming.

“Oooo, I do like a nice thick bunch of man-pubes underneath me bits. Lady-ones just aren’t up to the job. Mrs Harrison’s thinkin’ of getting’ a transplant.”

The grip on Saboo’s prick eases slightly, letting a rush of blood pulse along his shaft. He’s not sure whether it’s hurting him, or turning him on. Either way it brings tears to his eyes.

“And now you’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”

Saboo nods. An odd mewling noise comes from his throat.

“But only when I say you can.”

And the alien continues the torment, loosening that coiled tentacle with imperceptible slowness, licking and tickling at Saboo’s captive, hyper-sensitive genitals until he is sure he will implode with the sensation.

Finally, blessedly, the last coil slides free. Saboo thrusts upwards, pleading.

“Alright, you can come for me… now.”

Harrison leans forward and takes Saboo into his mouth, and at the first long lick of that muscular tongue Saboo is utterly undone, thrashing and moaning in his bonds, his hips arching up as he comes, and comes, harder than he ever has before.

Harder than he ever has for anyone.

When at last it’s over, Tony slides his mouth off Saboo’s softening prick with a wet ‘pop’, then licks his lips with disgusting enthusiasm.

“Cor, there was plenty of it backed up inside of you and all. Been a long time, has it?”

Saboo shuts his watering eyes and lies on the bed in a limp, boneless heap. He doesn’t care what Tony says or does any more. Even when he feels the cuffs being undone, he can’t be bothered to move.

“Course, bein’ deficient in the genitalia department, he doesn’t need it as often as you do,” Tony is saying, as he removes the gag. “Must be hard, sometimes.” Then he realizes what he’s just said, and sniggers. “Hard, geddit? Oh, I’m so witty it’s outrageous!”

Saboo doesn’t respond. He is beyond saying anything now.

He simply rolls over and reaches for the Memory Modifier that is secreted under his pillow.

This had better bloody work. Kirk charged a fortune for hiring it out.

There is a brief flash of orange light.

“Ah! Is that the time? I should be getting home,” Tony says with innocent cheerfulness. “Mrs Harrison will be waiting for me. Cheers Saboo, I’ve enjoyed our little drink. Although” – he sniffs – “this room could do with airing. You been havin’ a wank in here or sommink?”

“Right on at least three counts,” Saboo says, dragging himself off the bed and opening the window. “We could do with some fresh air, somebody in this room is a wanker, and talking of which, it’s time you were going, Tony. Here, let me show you out.”

He picks Tony up by one rubbery ear, and proceeds to boot him out of the window into the darkness before he can notice or comment on Saboo’s total lack of clothing.

A few seconds of startled silence are followed by a soft thud. Then a faint cry of “It’s an outrage!” drifts up from the street, six floors down.

Saboo snorts.

“Twat.”

He closes the window. The cold air is making his eyes burn.

Too exhausted even to bother taking a shower, Saboo crawls back into the wreckage of the bed and pulls the driest of the covers over his aching body.

A single tear trickles down into the cool, unresponsive curves of the pillow.

Outside the window, the Xooberon night-breeze lisps softly against the trees.


End file.
